First To Fight (The Empire's Corps Book 11)

by Christopher Nuttall

  You’ll have to keep them ready to move, I reminded myself. The enemy might have mortars of their own - and radars that could track a shell back to its launch point, then open fire on the guns. We trained against hard opposition just so our actual missions seemed easy. Who knows what they’re planning for me.

  I unfurled the map and studied it, thinking hard. The enemy lines - officially - were several kilometres from the mountains. In practice, the so-called front line was a nebulous, shifting term of convenience. They might have rushed forward, intent on getting to the gap before we could respond, or they might have planned on the assumption we’d be too quick off the mark and they’d have to force the gap.

  It was nearly ten minutes before the truck came into view. I allowed myself a moment of relief as Professor jumped out and waved, then hastily started unloading the remainder of our supplies. Joker and the others hurried to join him, grabbing tools that could be used to rig up mines and booby traps. I took a certain amount of sadistic pleasure in giving Viper the job of setting a handful up. None of us liked messing with explosive traps, even when using proper explosives instead of makeshift bombs; if Viper intended to moan and groan, he could at least do it while doing something useful.

  “Sneak, I want you to get up the mountain,” I ordered. Sneak was from squad one, a man with an inhuman talent for sneaking around. Apparently, he’d been the only person from squad one to make it to the flag before getting scooped up anyway. “When the enemy come into view, use the torches to flash an alert.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sneak said.

  “Pity you can't send Viper up there,” Joker muttered.

  I shrugged. Maybe Viper would be better operating on his own. He wasn't a team player, but he seemed to do all right on solo tests. If I’d thought I could trust him to handle the task, I would have sent him. I briefly considered sending him back to the remaining trucks, then dismissed it. After he’d planted the traps, I could find him something else to do.

  Time wore on, slowly. We waited, impatiently, for the enemy to come into view. Where were they? I looked at the map again and again, reassuring myself that I wasn't wrong, that there simply wasn't any other way they could take if they wished to bring an armoured force through the mountains. Hell, I’d have had my doubts about taking tanks along the road; a Hammerhead would seriously damage the road and a Landshark would probably ruin it for everyone else. There’s a reason we have tank transporters when we want to move tanks from place to place.

  I doubted myself, time and time again. Maybe they were sneaking up on us - the gap was an obvious place for an ambush, after all. I sure as hell wouldn't drive along it at full speed without making damn sure it was clear first. Or maybe they had decided to give the gap a wide berth after all, even if it put them miles out of their way. Or maybe they had seen us in place and decided not to push it. I wouldn't have cared to tangle with a carefully-laid ambush, if I had a choice, and calling in an airstrike would mess up the road. Or ...

  A burst of gunfire shocked me out of my thoughts. Were they here?

  Viper was standing near one of his emplaced traps, holding his rifle. The remains of a small forest creature were lying on the ground, smoking slightly. I jumped up and ran down to him, feeling raw anger twisting in my gut. This was it. Plant or no plant, I was going to knock some sense into him if it was the last thing I did.

  “You fucking idiot,” I bellowed. Everyone for a dozen miles had probably heard the shots, even if we were in the middle of a war zone. If the enemy hadn't known where we were beforehand, they sure as hell knew now. “Are you trying to get us all killed!”

  Viper glared up at me, furiously. His hands tightened on his gun.

  “Enough,” I snapped. “You’re relieved. You can go to the Drills and quit or we’ll all go to them and demand your removal.”

  Viper lifted his rifle and pointed it at me. I jumped aside - my reflexes had been honed by endless practice - as he pulled the trigger, sending a hail of bullets into the trees. Someone shouted behind me as I twisted and lunged at him, knocking the barrel into the sky. There was another burst of gunfire as he fell backwards, with me on top of him. I was too angry to care as we struggled for supremacy. I was a better fighter, but Viper seemed to have snapped completely. It was like grappling with a lunatic who didn't give a damn how much he was hurt, as long as he hurt you.

  “Hold him down,” Bainbridge snarled.

  I was trying! The rifle went flying into the underbrush as Viper let go of it. Moments later, we had him on his front and his hands caught behind him. He still struggled, even when Bainbridge tied his hands; he kept struggling until the Drill Instructor pressed an injector tube against his neck.

  “ENDEX,” Bainbridge said, keying his radio. “I say again, ENDEX.”

  I stared. We had been told, time and time again, that exercises didn’t stop because someone had been injured or killed. Bainbridge had the authority to cancel anything at any time he liked, but it was rarely used. Now ...

  “Get everything packed up,” he ordered, tartly. He scooped Viper’s unconscious body up and placed it over his shoulder. “We’ll be going straight back to barracks.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Make sure you put all the live ammunition under lock and key,” Bainbridge added, after a moment. “One snapper may set off others.”

  I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

  “Fuck me,” Joker said. “What the fuck got into him?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. I’d been wrong. Viper couldn’t have been a plant, not when he’d come within a hairsbreadth of shooting me with live bullets. I knew the Drill Instructors were tough, but they weren't mad. “I really don’t know.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The marines, it should be noticed, have a lower rate of suicides or lethal ‘accidents’ than any of the other military services, but that doesn't mean they are entirely absent. A recruit who has failed to blend into his squad and feels, in consequence, alone and entirely abandoned, may find himself feeling suicidal. Drill Instructors are trained to watch for potential suicide risks, but the fundamental ethos of Boot Camp - that it is the desire to succeed that counts, rather than anything else - goes against most suicide prevention strategies.

  -Professor Leo Caesius

  It was a very silent group that packed up and made its way back to barracks, where we were told to remain until we received further orders. A Drill Instructor I didn't know arrived shortly afterwards, taking over the task of supervising us while Bainbridge and the others went ... where? I knew from bitter experience that people on Earth played musical chairs to evade the blame, but somehow I couldn't see any of the Drill Instructors I knew trying to avoid their share of responsibility. And yet, how was it their fault?

  I was still mulling it over when another officer I didn't recognise arrived and spoke, very briefly, to the Drill Instructor.

  “Stalker,” the instructor said. “Captain Giovanni will escort you to the Commandant’s office.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  I had never been anywhere near the administrative block since my arrival at Boot Camp. None of us had, unless we were getting kicked out for breaking one rule or another; it was closed and sealed, access only possible if accompanied by a senior officer. Captain Giovanni led me through the gate, past a set of dull buildings that were completely sealed, and up to a large building at the centre of the camp. A man wearing a dark blue uniform was standing guard outside, eying everyone who went by. He gave me a long considering look before I was led past him and into the building.

  “An inquest has been organised at very short notice,” Captain Giovanni informed me, as we entered a small antechamber. I couldn't help feeling as though I was going to see the headmaster, although no headmaster I’d ever met had the power to order my removal from school. “The Commandant and a couple of other officers will ask you questions, which I advise you to answer to the best of your ability. You are not - yet - in any trouble, but if you wish
one of the Drill Instructors to accompany you ...”

  “No, thank you,” I said, quickly. Was I in trouble? It seemed quite likely. “What are they going to ask?”

  “Questions,” Captain Giovanni said. Either he was needling me or he honestly didn't know what they would ask. “Like I said, answer them to the best of your ability.”

  I swallowed, then reminded myself that I was a marine recruit who’d completed two phases of Boot Camp and was on the verge of completing a third, if my career hadn’t just hit something made of hullmetal. Captain Giovanni looked me up and down, then rapped on a door loudly enough to make me jump. It swung open a moment later, revealing a bare room and a table, with three men sitting behind it. I recognised the Commandant from his welcoming speech - it felt like decades ago - but the other two were unfamiliar. A fourth chair was on my side of the table, with a glass of water resting in front of it.

  “Recruit,” the Commandant said. I snapped to attention. “Be seated.”

  I sat, carefully.

  “We have some questions about what happened today,” the Commandant said, once I was seated. My mouth felt terrifyingly dry and I was far too aware of Captain Giovanni, standing behind me. “Answer them and our follow-up questions as best as you can, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Very good,” the Commandant said. “Describe for us, in your own words, just what happened today.”

  I swallowed, then began. The Commandant’s face was completely expressionless as I described the problem with Viper, his decision to fire at a small animal and then his murderous attack on me. In hindsight, I should have sent him back to the trucks or done something - anything - else, although I wasn't sure what. It had never been in my power to remove him from Boot Camp.

  “This recruit - Viper - was apparently a problem for quite some time,” the Commandant said. “Why didn't you complain to the Drill Instructors?”

  “Because we thought that there was no point in complaining, sir,” I said. “Some of us suspected he was a plant, someone to force us to learn how to deal with him, while others believed that complaining would make us all look bad. We assumed he would be recycled after the phase three exams.”

  “Hardly a wise assumption,” one of the unfamiliar men said. “Teamwork is considered important, recruit. His attitude might have cost you your chance at a pass. He might not have been the only one forced to redo phase three.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. In hindsight ... but hindsight was always clearer than foresight. I’d screwed up; we’d all screwed up. “We should have complained.”

  “It’s never easy to tell what might be considered a valid complaint,” the Commandant observed, coldly. I shivered, but I had the feeling it was his companion who was being told off. “Recruits aren't expected to evaluate one another at this stage of their training.”

  The other unfamiliar man looked at me. “Regardless, recruit, what was your impression of Viper?”

  I took a breath. “I don't think he wanted to be here, sir,” I said. He wore no rank badges, but if he was here, sitting at the table, he had to be important. “He did the bare minimum to pass each exam, scraping through by the skin of his teeth. His contribution to teamwork was pathetic. I think he wanted to quit, but didn't quite dare. That's why some of us believed him to be a plant.”

  “It’s a flaw in the system,” the Commandant acknowledged. “We try to find people with the sheer bloody-minded determination to keep going, then nurture them. We’re not allowed to reject anyone who has the grit to carry on.”

  I said nothing. I’d been told that the marines were quite informal - none of them had anything to prove to their fellows - but I wasn't a marine, not yet. The Commandant could blight my career with a word, if he wished. I wasn't sure I agreed with him either, something I kept firmly to myself. Viper had been a danger and he should have been removed from the platoon well before he pointed a gun at me and pulled the trigger.

  “Given Viper’s behaviour,” one of the unfamiliar officers said, “do you believe he was on drugs? Or any other form of influence?”

  “No, sir,” I said. “Where would he have gotten them?”

  It was an absurd question, as far as I could tell. Boot Camp was completely sealed off from the outside world. There were no packages in and out, only electronic messages that passed through the censor before being distributed to the recruits. Viper couldn't have gotten his hands on anything more dangerous than light painkillers ... and even those would have been recorded, if he’d requested them from the medics. There was, quite simply, no way to get drugs into Boot Camp.

  And even if he had managed to get them through the first hurdle, I thought, recalling the day I’d stripped naked upon entering Boot Camp, he would have used them all by now, surely.

  “Some criminals can be quite inventive,” the Commandant muttered, sardonically. He cleared his throat. “In hindsight, is there anything you wish you’d done differently?”

  “I wish I’d complained about him, sir,” I said, honestly. I had a feeling that there was no point in wishing he’d gone back to the trucks instead. “We could all have lodged a complaint.”

  “Maybe you should have done,” the Commandant agreed. “There are some people who, through no fault of their own, never quite fit in here. Viper, however, does not fall into that category. He should have had the wisdom to quit.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to remain in a side room until the inquest is over,” the Commandant said, after a moment. “Do you have anything else you want to tell us?”

  “No, sir,” I said. Was I in trouble? I didn't know. “I ...”

  I stopped myself. The Commandant smiled.

  “You may speak freely,” he said.

  “Sir,” I said. “What is going to happen to him?”

  “That depends on what we determine over the next few hours,” the Commandant said. He nodded to Captain Giovanni. “Escort the recruit to the waiting room, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” Captain Giovanni said.

  I saluted, then allowed him to lead me through a maze of corridors and into a small room. It reminded me of the hostel, back on Earth; a bed, a small computer terminal and little else. I checked the terminal as soon as he left me alone and discovered, not entirely to my surprise, that it was locked out of the main system. The only files I could access were a handful of manuals, mainly centred around administrative procedures. Cursing under my breath, I started to read them anyway. The door might not be locked, but I knew better than to wander.

  Bainbridge came for me two hours later. “Stalker,” he said, as he opened the door. “Come with me.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “You have been found personally blameless,” Bainbridge said, as we walked. “There was some disagreement over the question of what precisely you should have done, if you should have reported him to us, but they understood that you wouldn't have found it easy.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said.

  “But you should have brought it to us,” Bainbridge added. “We might have told you to shut up and soldier, but we might also have taken you seriously.”

  I wasn't so sure. The Drill Instructors had taught us to hate shirkers and malingerers - and recruits who grumbled incessantly. Viper had definitely fitted the bill, but at the same time we might have done, if we had bitched about him to our superiors. Yes, they might have taken us seriously - we had completed phase one and two, after all - or they might have chosen to override our concerns.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, instead. “Can this recruit ask a question?”

  “Yes,” Bainbridge said.

  “Viper,” I said. “What will happen to him?”

  “It would depend, I imagine,” Bainbridge said. “He will be dismissed from Boot Camp, certainly. Given the nature of his offense, he may be jailed or dumped on a penal colony, although he might be able to request indenture instead. His training would be quite u
seful on a colony world.”

  “Poor colonists,” I said, without thinking.

  “Don’t underestimate them,” Bainbridge said. “Many of the folks who left Earth and the Core World are self-selected for grit, determination and bloody-mindedness. Why do you think we find most of our recruits there?”

  I hadn't thought about it at all, to be honest. It wasn't something I was going to tell him, either. And yet it was true; Earthers might be used to the government taking care of them - badly - but colonists knew they had no one to rely on, apart from themselves. Viper’s training wouldn't make him a wolf among sheep, not on the colonies. He’d either find a place for himself or wind up dead.